


late night questions, midnight answers

by lovebeyondmeasure



Series: all the hours belong to you and me [1]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: F/M, Feelings Realization, Late Night Conversations, Post-Career of Evil, Written Pre-Lethal White
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-09 15:31:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13484463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovebeyondmeasure/pseuds/lovebeyondmeasure
Summary: “Were you honestly waiting for me this whole time?”Cormoran learns the answer to questions he's been afraid to ask himself.





	1. late night questions

**Author's Note:**

> First line was the prompt from an anon on tumblr. I don't think either of us were expecting this, nonny.

“Were you honestly waiting for me this whole time?”

Cormoran looked up, exhaling a cloud of smoke and dropping his cigarette butt into the bin. Robin stood there, wrapped in her coat, her cheeks flushed from the cold winter air.

Something about her tone made Cormoran think that she wasn’t just talking about him standing outside for her tonight. He looked at her, then turned, holding out an elbow. She stepped forward and slipped her hand into the crook of his arm, and they set off down the sidewalk.

He walked in silence, letting Robin lean on him a bit as she navigated the slushy pavement in her heels. She didn’t seem inclined to push him for an answer, so they walked in silence, the sound of the late-night city floating around them.

He knew he should hail them a cab, or even separate cabs, send them off towards their own separate lives, let the question die at that door like the cigarette he’d left there. But something kept him back, kept him walking down the street, Robin on his arm like she belonged there.

As they walked, he heard Robin draw in a purposeful breath, and braced himself for a repetition of her earlier query, or even a more pointed version of it. But instead, what Robin asked was, “Would you like to get a drink? I know a nice pub around here, they’re got quite a good smoking patio.”

“Ah- sure, yeah,” Cormoran said, caught off-guard. “Lead the way.”

And the way she turned and smiled at him made the stirring of apprehension in his chest shrivel away. 

Robin turned down a side street, took another left, and there it was, a small pub with a sign, in neon, proclaiming it “The Blue Candle.” He gave her a slightly sceptical look, but allowed himself to be drawn through the doors into the small, warm space.

Robin turned to him, cheeks bright from the sudden heat. “Table, bar, or patio?”

Cormoran was caught in the unexpected wave of- something- that had swept over him at the sight of her, all made up and extremely lovely, with all her attention on him. “What? Oh,” he said, shrugging out of his coat, “whatever you like.”

“Table it is, then, if I can get one,” she said, giving him a quizzical look but not commenting. He followed her back into the room, watching the way Robin found space, or made space, in the crowd. A man in an orange polo watched Robin pass with interest, but then caught Strike’s glare and turned away. 

Robin dropped her coat over the back of a chair and sat down at a table barely large enough to earn the name. Cormoran lowered himself in the seat across from her, watching as she arranged herself to her satisfaction.

When she looked up at him, Cormoran was ready. “White wine?” he asked, leaning towards her to be heard.

She dimpled. “Yes please!” She looked pleased at this.

Cormoran managed himself back up, patting his pocket to make sure his wallet was in place. He stood at the bar for a long few minutes, waiting for the bloke to finish with a pack of giggly girls in low-cut tops before he finally got around to Strike.

“Got Doom Bar?” Cormoran asked, expectations low. To his pleasure, the bartender nodded and set about pulling him a pint immediately. “And a white wine. Uh, small,” Cormoran added. He handed the man his card, safe in the knowledge that his last client had already paid him.

Balancing the two drinks, he made his way back to where Robin was waiting. As he did, a girl with wildly curly blonde hair nearly knocked into him.

“Whoops, sorry mate! Don’t know how I didn’t see you!” she said, pulling back. Cormoran, focusing on making sure he hadn’t spilled, missed the way the girl looked him over. “Buy you a drink to make up for it?” Her offer was made with clear invitation.

Cormoran, surprised, said the first thing that came to mind- “Sorry, here with someone.” The girl’s eyes followed his gaze to where Robin was sitting, her face lit up by the neon lights in the window, casting her in blue and pink and yellow into a sort of modern art.

“Well,” the girl said with a shrug, “come find me if she don’t work out.”

Cormoran shook his head and turned away. He couldn’t imagine a world in which he left the bar with the curly-haired girl instead of Robin.

“Here you are,” he said, setting Robin’s wine on the table. She smiled up at him. 

“Sorry you had to wait so long,” she said, lifting the glass to her mouth. “It’s busy for Thursday.”

“Looks like a uni crowd to me,” Cormoran replied. “Young, tired, drinking cheap drinks.”

Robin laughed just a little as Cormoran sipped his pint. “Yeah, makes sense. Thirsty Thursday, I think they call it.”

Strike made a sound of derision. Robin tilted her smile at him.

“That blonde girl looked like she wanted to take you home,” Robin said, carefully casual. Strike looked at her across the table, but she was looking out at the crowd. He hadn’t realized she’d seen that.

“She might have offered to buy me a drink,” he replied, setting his drink down.

“And what did you say?” Robin asked, still staring into the crowd.

“Said I came here with someone,” he said, watching her.

She turned to him, eyebrows raised. “Oh?” She was playing her fingers around the rim of her glass, almost nervously. “But that makes it sound like we’re-”

She broke off, looking at him. Her earlier question, still unanswered, seemed to stretch out between them, a tiny pocket of silence in the rollicking pub.

_“Were you honestly waiting for me this whole time?”_

“Yeah,” Cormoran said, not looking away. Her eyes were roaming his face, and he simply sat there, let her look. “I know.”

“So,” Robin said, searching for a way to release the tension, “she wasn’t your type, then?”

“No,” he said. “She’s not.”

Still he looked at her. Still she looked back. Around them, the students were shouting, laughing, drinking, searching for someone to take home, someone to keep them warm. 

Robin picked up her glass a took a deep swallow from it. The neon played with her features, shadowing her blue, highlighting her pink. Cormoran drank deeply from his glass, for an excuse to look away.

“What do you think of this place?” Robin asked when he set his glass down. It was half gone, now. “It’s not how I remember it being.”

“Not bad,” Cormoran said, but he thought it was too loud, too desperate, too young.

“Oh,” Robin said, “don’t lie to my face, you know I hate that. Come on, let’s go to the patio, you can have a smoke and stop looking so tense.”

He followed her up a stairway at the back of the room, to a second floor with a few billiards tables and some darts. This space was less crowded, but only slightly, to allow for the players to have enough room to manouever. She took him across the room and out another door, and they were standing on a second-floor rooftop balcony, with a nice awning and, blessedly, heating.

Cormoran looked around, the potted plants and tiny metal chairs with plastic cushions, the lack of people shouting.

“Why didn’t we come up here first?” he asked.

“Because you were getting us drinks,” Robin said, a little nonsensically, but he allowed it. Robin took a seat at one of the tables, and Strike pulled out a cigarette and a lighter, sitting closer to the edge of the balcony so he could blow smoke away from her.

Robin sipped her wine. “Better?”

“Infinitely,” he replied, taking a deep inhalation of the cigarette. Robin watched, fond but disapproving.

They sat there, watching the cars pass below, the music rumbling up through the floor, the subdued chatter on the terrace a world away from the frenetic atmosphere below them.

When his cigarette was half gone and Robin’s glass was empty, Cormoran stared at the foggy brownish sky above them. “Thanks for coming with me.”

“Oh, I- it was nothing,” Robin said immediately.

“You didn’t have to, and I appreciate it,” he went on, as though he hadn’t heard. “I know it can’t have been much fun for you.”

“Oh no,” she protested. “Your friends are nice.”

“Most of them are awful,” Cormoran said bluntly, startling a laugh out of her. “I really only still talk to a few of them, and that just because they tend to send work my way. Our way.”

They sat silently for a moment. A few tables over, three women burst into raucous laughter. Robin looked over at them, and in the low light, she was all soft curves and gentle shadows. Cormoran found himself wanting to reach out and tuck back the hair that had fallen out of her updo. He drank the last of his pint, instead.

“Anyway,” he said. “Thanks.”

“I…” she looked at him, then away. “I’m glad I came.”

“Yeah,” he said. 

The conversation she’d overheard seemed to float hazily between them.

* * *

__

_“And when are you gonna settle down, Strike?” one of the old blowhards asked him, pointing with the hand that held his ball glass. “Marry some poor girl and have a kiddie or two?”_

_“Oh, ah-” Strike should have prepared for this, and had not, and was now cursing himself._

_“What happened to that girl of yours, Chantelle?” another asked, winking broadly. Strike knew they were getting to the point of the evening when the women removed themselves to let the men drink and tell ribald jokes, and knew that he was going to be a target, for being young and single when they were married and old._

_“Didn’t you see the girl he came with?” a third man asked, pointing at the one who’d asked about Charlotte. “She’s a looker herself, real corker.”_

_“No, I met Chantelle once, and she was-” the man let out a low whistle. “Always wondered what she saw in you, old man!” He laughed._

_Strike gritted on a smile. “Left me for another man,” he shrugged, palms up to say, ‘oh well.’ The three who’d been paying him attention laughed, at him, and Strike managed to make it look as though they were laughing with him._

_He was planning his escape as the third man said, “So your girlie’s the rebound, yeah? Not bad!”_

_“No, she’s not-” he said. “She’s just out a bad relationship herself, we’re not-”_

_“Ah,” the first man nodded. “So you’re playing the long game, then, eh? Waiting on her?” He laughed again. Cormoran wanted to take the ball glass from his hand and smash it. “Just don’t wait too long, boyo!”_

_“I’m-” Cormoran gave up, but caught the eye of the third man, who’d admired Robin. “She’s not like that. She’s not for me. Anyway, she’s the kind of woman who’s worth waiting for.”_

_The man nodded. “Real beauty, she is.”_

_“It’s not just that,” Cormoran said. “She’s- it’s not that. She’s the kind of girl you marry, y’see?”_

_In Cormoran’s mind, Robin was inherently a creature of marriage, meant for marriage, the product of a happy home, who would one day build another. She had appeared in his life freshly engaged, and it still felt strange to see her without a sparkling ring on her left hand, even now, nearly a year later._

_“So you’re going to marry her, then!” the man said, grinning._

_“No!” he said._

_“Why not?”_

_Cormoran felt as though this man, with his ugly tie and receding hairline, was interrogating him._

_“She’s just out of a bad relationship,” he said again._

_“So you’re waiting for her!”_

_This conversation had gone in a circle, and Cormoran was ready to shout at someone._

_“Look,” Strike said, sighing. He knew there was no point trying to explain this, but felt compelled to do so anyway. “It’s not that she’s not beautiful, because she is, obviously. She’s also smart, quick, good at her job, all those things. But she’s not the sort of girl you have a fling with, y’see? She’s better than that.”_

_“So do you want to marry her?” Cormoran was tired of the conversation of drunks._

_“It’s not that,” he said, avoiding the question._

_“So you do want to be with her!” The man’s smile seemed to convey that he felt he’d scored a point in this conversation. “Why aren’t you?” Before Strike could say anything, the mad nodded sagely. “Because you’re waiting, right, right, right.”_

_Loosening his tie, the man looked up, over Strike’s shoulder. Turning, Cormoran saw Robin, standing in the doorway, staring at him._

_He got up. “I need a smoke,” he said. “See you later, gents.”_

_The other men, who seemed to have lost interest in him in the way of drunks, nodded genially. Strike walked towards Robin, who just looked up at him, silent. He knew she must have caught at least part of the conversation._

_“I’m heading out,” he said shortly._

_“Oh,” she said. “I’ve got to go say goodnight to Peggy and Denise, and get my things.”_

_He nodded at her, and walked past, getting his coat and going outside to light a cigarette._

_Nearly fifteen minutes later, his cigarette mostly ash, he’d turned to see Robin in the doorway at last._

__

* * *

Robin opened her mouth as if to say something.

Cormoran felt as though he was holding his breath, but knew he wasn’t; his chest felt tight, and his pulse was faster than usual, and _oh,_ he thought. _I’m nervous. Why am I nervous?_

Robin was toying with the rim of her now-empty glass, and he watched the way her painted nails went round and round, hypnotically. She watched the way he was watching her.

“Cormoran,” she said softly. He looked up at her face, and saw a growing question there, and had no way to answer it, not honestly, not out loud.

“Are you ready to go?” she asked, instead.

 _No,_ he wanted to say. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Sure.”


	2. midnight answers

Cormoran followed Robin back inside, down the stairs, through the crowd, out the door. He was focused on her, the sway of her stride, the glint of her hair, that he failed to see the blonde girl from before, who watched him leave with a vague air of disappointment.

Back on the sidewalk, Robin was tucking the end of her scarf into her coat. Cormoran looked down the street, taking his bearings. Robin slipped up alongside him, taking his arm as she had before, and began walking him along.

It had been a long day, and a longer evening, and his leg ached, but Cormoran could not look away from the woman beside him. She walked firmly, her head held high, chin up, as though daring the world to touch her. He knew how hard she had worked to be this fearless, and it was like an ache in his chest, this fondness, this feeling.

“What time is it?” Robin asked suddenly, apropo of nothing. Cormoran jerked his wrist out to show his watch.

“Quarter of midnight,” he said. She muttered a curse.

“Last Tube back to my station leaves at 11:50, and we’re at least seven or eight minutes away.” She sighed gustily. 

He hadn’t been expecting this, but it was Thursday; the late-night trains didn’t run on weekdays.

“I kept thinking it’s Friday, but it’s not,” she said, sounding frustrated with herself. “Damn, damn, damn. I’ll have to get a hotel.”

“Come back to the office,” Cormoran said, before he could think better of it. 

“What?” Robin turned uncomprehending eyes to him. They had stopped walking, and stood together in the pool of golden light from a streetlamp, and he watched how it made her glow.

“Come back to the office. I’ve still got the camp bed, and you’ve got your bag of tricks, yeah? Should be enough for one night.”

Cormoran carefully did not think about how this would change things; they had barely spoken openly about the time he had spent living in his office. He did not think about what it would mean to have Robin there overnight, or how it might affect their partnership, or any of it. 

She looked thoughtful. Having made the offer, Cormoran felt compelled to have her accept it; he knew that she couldn’t afford a night in a hotel of any decent quality, and neither could he. He also knew that, like himself, Robin would reject any offer made out of pity or charity.

“You’d have to come to the office anyway, for your things, and this way you won’t have to go back out,” he said.

Robin nodded, slowly. “I suppose…” She sighed once more. “Yeah, alright.”

He didn’t think he ought to feel triumph. They started walking once more, Robin again leading the way.

“Do you know how to get back to the office from here?” he asked, after they’d gone several more blocks.

“Yes,” she said. “A few blocks up, there’s a spot where some cabs hang out, I got to know a few of them when I was working on that Dirty Dancing case. Least one of them’s usually around, this time of night.”

“Ah,” he said. The Dirty Dancing case had taken nearly four months, and Robin had taken lead on it; the lawyer who’d hired them had taken great pains to build an airtight case, and it had paid well.

“The studio’s just down from the Blue Candle,” Robin went on as they walked. “I was out and about this area loads during that one.”

That explained how Robin, who’d really only lived in London for a year and a half, was navigating the area with such confidence. Knowing her thoroughness, she’d committed a map of the area to memory.

Coming up to a well-lit intersection, there were, indeed, three cabs loitering by an all-night Esso, waiting for the people in the pubs to come stumbling out along the street.

Robin perked up, and lengthened her strides, tugging Strike along towards them. He picked up the pace, smiling a little at her eagerness.

She released his arm, practically skipping up to the window of a green car.

“Reggie!” she said, tapping on the glass. The window rolled down, and a dark-skinned man wearing thick glasses peered out.

“Lindsey?”

She nodded, casting a look over at Strike. He understood immediately.

“It’s been so long!”

The cabbie was grinning. “Don’t stand there in the cold, get in and tell Reggie everything! Who’s this bloke, then?”

Robin, or Lindsey, apparently, opened the cab door and gestured Cormoran in. Bemused, he worked himself in, careful with his leg. She slid in next to him, and leaned forward to clasp hands with Reggie.

“Where’ve you been, then?” Reggie asked, pulling them out into the empty street. “Usual?”

“Oh, yes please,” Robin said. “Reg, how’ve you been doing? How’s the missus?”

“She’s started that sewing business, thanks!” the man said, his teeth flashing white in his face. “You were right, you were, and I wanted to thank you!”

“Oh, Reg, weren’t anything,” she said, slipping slightly into a different cant than her usual Yorkshire roundness. “Glad t’all worked out!”

“She hated that phone job, and no mistaking it,” Reggie said, swerving the car confidently through a traffic circle. Strike was holding the handle above the window, his grip tight, his breathing carefully even. 

“See, Reg, you just hadda listen better, ‘s’all!” Robin said, grinning.

“But you know I listen all day in here, don’t wanna listen when I get home!” Reggie said, and they laughed together. “Who’s this, then, Linds, break up with that lad of yours? This can’t never be him.”

“Oh,” Robin said, “he dropped out of uni and went off to “find himself” and I haven’t heard from him in ages.” She used heavy air quotes and rolled her eyes about the behavior of this clearly fictional boyfriend. “This is Cameron, he’s a TA.”

“Nicetomeecha, Cameron,” Reggie said, glancing into the mirror to make brief eye contact before looking back at the road. “Treating my girl here right, are you?”

“Best I can,” Cormoran said. It was fascinating to see Robin like this, in a long-established persona, easy with herself and with others. 

“Reg, it’s not like that,” she said, rolling her eyes once more.

“Right, because laddiebuck here’s blind,” Reggie said, grinning at her in the mirror. They came to a stop at an empty intersection, the light casting red into the vehicle. “That’s why you’re taking him home with you.”

“No!” she protested. “He just lives nearby, and I thought we could split the cab, that’s all.”

Reggie turned to look at Cormoran, studying his face. “You make sure nothing happens to my girl here,” he said. “She’s a treasure, she is.”

Robin was grinning, exasperated. “Reg, lay off. The light’s green.”

They sped along, Reggie clearly a cabbie of long standing by the way he navigated. Cormoran kept his peace, just listening as Robin-as-Lindsey chatted with Reggie, the lights flashing by outside.

He pulled them up to a curb about four blocks from Denmark Street. “Here we are, safe and sound,” Reggie said, putting the car in park. Robin began digging through her bag, and Reggie tsked. “Nah, none of that, just good to see you, Linds. Don’t be a stranger now that loverboy’s run off, alright?”

Robin shook her head. “Reg, I can’t let you-”

“Nah, nah, I can catch a fare or three round the corner, no troubles. Off you get, there’s a girl. Oi, and you, get her in safe,” Reggie said, pointing at Strike. After Robin had climbed out, Cormoran pressed fifteen pounds into his hand.

“Cheers, mate,” Reggie said, grinning at Strike. 

“Thanks for the ride,” Cormoran said. “Have a good one.”

“Yeah, you too,” Reggie said. He leaned towards the window. “See you, yeah Linds?”

“O’course, Reg!” Robin replied, waving. “Say hullo to the wife for me!”

“Will do!” Reggie drove off, leaving them standing in the light of a flickering streetlight.

“Lindsey?” Cormoran asked, beginning to walk back towards the office and home. 

“Yeah,” she said, falling into easy step. “I was a grad student with a boyfriend who was always working. Made it easy to explain hanging out all hours, on my phone, and needing quick rides elsewhere. I told them I tutored for extra money.”

“Ah,” Strike said. “That’s a clever story. And he remembered you? It’s been a while since that one.”

“Reg gave me loads of rides, once he started recognizing me,” Robin said, smiling. “He’s got a daughter few years younger than me, so he’s protective of us girls. Plus, I always tipped well.”

“Smart,” Cormoran said. He sometimes forgot how good Robin was with people, with building stories, since they didn’t work together in the field so much anymore. 

“Well,” Robin said, nudging him, “I hardly got this job by being foolish, now, did I.” 

He smiled at the ground, shaking his head.

The few blocks back to Denmark Street, Strike couldn’t help but compare this to his last late night out with a woman. He’d been seeing a girl named Mary, who had been fun but tiring, always wanting to drag him off somewhere else, go meet with her friends, go to a show, go to this, to that. He’d started to hate Saturdays, because they always meant _going_ somewhere, and the sex afterwards, though enjoyable, had not made up for the exhaustion.

But walking the late-night street with Robin, he almost wanted to ask if she’d like to stop for another drink. He didn’t want to go back to his apartment, collapse into bed; or he did, but he’d rather spend more time with her. Being with Robin wasn’t tiring, but restful.

“Robin?” he asked, into the chill night. His breath plumed into the air around them. She looked over at him.

“Yes?”

“I-” he didn’t know what he was going to say. What had he been thinking he would say? “Nothing. Sorry.”

“Oh,” she said. “That’s okay.” He thought it was probably a trick of the shadows that made her look disappointed.

They made the rest of the journey back in silence. Robin’s heels clacked briskly on the pavement, and Cormoran could feel himself beginning to limp. The cold played hell with his leg, and he silently cursed the thing.

Cormoran held the door open for Robin to go in ahead of him, letting her start the stairs before him, so that he could make his own, slower way up without her trapped behind. In the odd, dim lighting of the stairwell, Cormoran felt as though time was still, as though this night would never end.

Coming up to the landing, Robin was already fumbling the keys into the lock. She turned to see him.

“Oh, are you going up, then?” she asked, turning the key.

He knew he ought to go up, take off his nice suit, his damned leg, and go to sleep. Instead, he said, “I’ll come in, get the bed set up for you.”

“Thanks,” she said, going in and turning on the lamp in the corner.

Over the past few months, their office had started to look less stark, more homey, while somehow also looking more professional. He didn’t know how she’d done it. There were two lamps, a throw on the couch, some pillows. Magazines on the table, real curtains on the window, three boxes of tissues scattered about. Robin sat down on the couch to take her heels off as Cormoran slid out of his coat and jacket.

“I’ll just,” he said, unsure. She looked up, gave him a tired smile. 

“Go on, then. I’m sure you’re ready for today to be done as well.”

“Yeah,” he said. He went to get the bed out of the storage closet.

When he came back out, Robin was gone, but he could hear her in the cramped bathroom on the landing. He set about dealing with the camp bed, which he’d hardly used for months. He had it up and settled against the wall in fairly short order.

Robin came back in, still in her nice dress but with her hair down and her tights in her hand. She went past him to tuck the tights into her “bag of tricks,” as Cormoran called it, an old suitcase full of clothing she used to change her appearance through the day as necessary.

“I don’t know that I’ve got anything meant for sleeping in here,” she said, rummaging. “But I’ll make something work.”

She turned, empty handed, looking at him, different with her hair down, her feet bare. Cormoran swallowed.

“Thanks for letting me stay here,” she said, lacing her fingers together. “I- I appreciate it.”

“Of course,” Cormoran said immediately. “You stayed late because of me, after all. I couldn’t let you pay for a hotel because you were doing me a favor.”

But now he was thinking about the party they’d left, the conversation she’d overheard, and he thought from the look on her face she was thinking about it too, and he wasn’t-

_“So you do want to be with her! Why aren’t you?”_

_“Were you honestly waiting for me this whole time?”_

Was he?

“Robin, I…” He still didn’t know what he was trying to say. She was looking at him, a hand twisting round her hair, pulling it over one shoulder. 

She gave him a small, tired smile. “Goodnight, Strike,” she said. Somehow, it felt strange to hear her call him by his last name; he suddenly missed hearing his given name in her mouth.

“It’s not that late,” he said. 

She laughed, a little. “It’s half-past midnight, and you’ve looked done in for the past forty minutes. Unless you were thinking of going back and finding that blonde?”

She smiled, inviting him in the joke, but there was a tightness around her eyes, and he didn’t feel like laughing.

“No,” he said. “No, she’s not-” _you._

_“Were you honestly waiting for me this whole time?”_

“Not your type, right, sorry,” Robin said, her smile faded now. “Go on, then.”

She yawned, hiding it behind her hand, and her painted nails caught the light, reflecting at him, reminding him of how she’d toyed with her wine glass, and he was-

_“So you do want to be with her! Why aren’t you?”_

“I had better go to bed,” he said, not moving.

“Probably,” Robin said, just looking at him. Just looking.

And he was looking back, at her shadowed eyes and her soft mouth and her restless hands and her folded arms and her, and her, and her.

_““So you do want to be with her! Why aren’t you?”_

_“Were you honestly waiting for me this whole time?”_

“Ask me again,” he said. 

“What?” Robin was bewildered. 

Cormoran could feel his heart beginning to pound, but he ignored it. He was tired of this. He felt as though he’d been standing still for months, instead of moving forward, and he couldn’t see a reason why, not in this moment, with Robin there, rumpled and tired and lovely.

“When you came out of the house, you asked me a question,” he said. “Ask me again.”

She was looking at him, confused and sharp at once. “I asked if you’d been waiting long.”

“No,” he said. “That’s not what you asked me. Ask me again.”

Robin’s eyes closed, and her lips moved just a touch, as she searched her memory for what she’d said. 

_“So you do want to be with her! Why aren’t you?”_

“Were you waiting for me this whole time.”

Her eyes opened, and she repeated herself once more.

“Were you honestly waiting for me this whole time?”

Standing there, in their office, the lamplight casting odd shadows everywhere, in the soft and breakable midnight, Cormoran knew the answer to her question.

“Yes.”

She blinked at him, and her arms tightened across her body. “What do you mean, yes?”

He stood there, very still. “I mean yes, Robin.”

He looked at her. She looked at him. He was afraid he’d said the wrong thing, that he’d broken something he couldn’t fix. He was about to apologize, escape, try to come up with a way to make it so this had never happened.

“Yes?” she whispered, her hand coming up to cover her mouth, her eyes huge in her face. 

This, more than anything, gave rise to a gentle swell of hope, just beneath his breastbone. “Robin,” he said, softly.

She hadn’t moved. “What…”

“I can go,” he said, still soft, so gentle. “I can leave you alone. If you want that. But yes, Robin.”

“You’ve been… waiting for me?”

And now his voice cracked, as he said, once more, “Yes, Robin.”

She made a noise like a sob, and he couldn’t stand it; he took a step towards her, then another, unable to come closer, unable to stay away.

“You…” she looked up at him. 

And he whispered again, “yes.”

And all at once, he found her in his arms, tucked in close, her face pressed against his chest, her arms coming to wrap around his waist, and he could hardly believe it; and yet here they were. He wrapped his arms around her, letting himself bend forward, smell her hair.

“But,” she said into his chest, her hands knotting in his shirt, “I thought…”

“You throw everything off balance for me, Robin,” he said into her hair. He let the words flow through him, all the things he’d tried so hard not to think, letting them trip reckless off his tongue. “You confuse me, and you challenge me, and you’re terrifying.”

She scoffed. He tightened his arms, slightly. “You are. You scare me. But you’re- you’re so quick, and so bright, and you don’t- you deserve more than I can give you. And I didn’t want to say anything, I didn’t want to risk what we had. But I.”

“But you?”

“But I,” he said, leaning in closer to her, unwilling to give up this moment. “I didn’t want to wait anymore.”

She laughed, and it was a sob, and she was pressed in his arms like she never wanted to leave.

“Cormoran Strike, you fool,” she whispered, and he felt a lightness, hearing his name from her once more.

“Say it again,” he asked.

“You’re a fool,” she said, and now she was laughing, just a bit, catching in her throat. She leaned back from him, tilting her head up to look him in the face, and her eyes were wet but her mouth was smiling and oh, oh, oh.

“No,” he said, this time allowing himself to tuck her hair back behind her ear. “No, my name.”

She looked at him, and whispered, “Cormoran.”

He felt himself exhale, and her hand came up to press against his cheek. Again, she whispered, “Cormoran.”

He turned his head, brushing his lips across her palm, and she sighed, “Cormoran.”

And he leaned down, and finally, finally, he kissed her, just softly, just a touch of lip to lip, and her hand moved to the back of his neck, lacing into his hair, and she sighed against his mouth, and he was kissing her, he was kissing her.

She tilted her head, drawing him in, and what had started as a gentle kiss became more between one breath and the next, and Cormoran leaned forward, searching for the way their mouths fit together, and she was pulling him, and the way she sighed his name once more had him tugging her closer, kissing her harder, until he hardly knew where he ended and she began.

Robin pulled back, laughing and gasping, and Cormoran chased her mouth with his own, kissing her again and again and once more for good measure. 

She leaned forward, one hand still wrapping tight around his neck, pressing her flushed face back against his shirt. 

“I’m sorry,” he said into her hair. “I’ll stop, I’m sorry.”

“No,” she said, breathing heavily. “No, don’t. I just need- I’m not-”

And it dawned on Cormoran that she never really talked about men, never mentioned having a boyfriend, which probably meant-

“You haven’t? Not since…?”

At the shake of her head, still against his chest, Cormoran tipped his head back, carefully breathing. That meant her only frame of reference was Matthew, and.

“Whatever you need,” he said. “Just tell me, and I’ll do it.”

“Yeah?” Robin said against his chest. “If I asked you to go, right now?”

“I’d go,” Cormoran said immediately. “If that’s what you wanted. Is that…?”

“No,” she said, leaning back to look at him once more. “Kiss me, Cormoran.”

And he did, sliding one hand up into her hair to cradle her head as he pressed kisses to her mouth, her cheeks, her chin. She stroked her fingers through his hair, murmuring his name.

He could not have said how long he stood there, kissing Robin, but knew it had been too long when he felt a twinge in his knee. 

“Robin, love,” he said, “I have to sit down now.”

“Oh!” she said, stepping back, out of his arms, and he immediately felt the loss of her. “I’m sorry, it’s your leg, isn’t it? I ought to let you go.”

He reached out, catching her hand, loathe to let this night end. It had started shabbily, but it had brought them to this point; how incredibly the world could turn.

Glancing at the camp bed, Cormoran allowed himself to be impulsive and reckless one more time. “Come upstairs with me?” he asked.

She looked at him, and she was so fragile, there, the lamplight casting her in gold and shadow. 

“Not to do anything but sleep,” he said. “I swear, Robin. But I’ve got a double bed, and I know for a fact it’s miles better than the camp bed, and,” he took a breath. “I don’t want to let you go just yet. So. Come up to bed with me?”

She blinked at him, slowly, and her mouth tugged up one one side, and she said, “Yes, alright.”

And she followed him out the door and up the stairs, into his shabby little flat, and she sat on his bed and politely looked away as he retrieved bedclothes and changed. Somehow, in the way of women, she took one of his shirts and changed into it from her dress, without ever baring more leg than she had been originally. 

He sat on the bed, suddenly realizing he was going to have to remove his prosthetic in front of her. This, somehow, seemed like a moment of great trust, even though he knew she’d seen him without it before.

Quietly, Robin clambered beneath the mussed sheets, sliding down to lay her head on the pillow. 

“If you’d like, I can close my eyes,” she offered softly. And in that moment, Cormoran identified the emotion in his chest as more than mere affection. She understood. She wouldn’t push him, and he wouldn’t push her; they would allow each other their own spaces, and slowly find the edges and the boundaries, and respect them. 

He nodded, and Robin turned away, allowing him to unhook his prosthetic and set it aside, to massage his leg and crawl beneath the covers, without feeling self conscious.

“I hope you don’t mind I took the left side,” Robin said. “It’s the side I always sleep on.”

“It’s fine,” he said.

She laid quietly, still turned away from him.

“Robin,” he said softly. “C’mere.”

She turned over, and again, there was the fragile expression, as though she was waiting for something to go wrong.

“Please?” he asked. She smiled, tremulously. He extended his hand, pressing it to her soft cheek. 

She closed her eyes, and came closer, laying her head on his pillow. He kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose, her cheek. She exhaled and tilted her head, offering her lips to him, and he took them, gently, letting her set the pace.

She kissed him back but kept her mouth closed, clearly signaling that she didn’t wish to go further; he carefully placed a hand on her hip, atop the shirt, and she allowed it, wriggling closer. 

After a few more minutes of this, she pulled back and curled into his chest. Cormoran pulled her close, letting his free hand rub gently up and down her spine.

“Thank you,” she said, so quietly.

“You don’t have to thank me, love,” he said. “I don’t want you to do anything you’re not ready for. There’s no rush. I’m just-” He took a breath. “You’re here. That’s more than… that’s all I could ask.”

She nuzzled her face against him, and he smiled.

“Good night, Cormoran,” she said.

“Good night, Robin,” he replied, pulling the other pillow over to lay atop his arm. “Sleep well.”

He could feel her yawn against his chest. “I will,” she whispered. “Sweet dreams.”

Laying his head down, he smiled. “Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there it is.
> 
> I love them. I hope you do too.

**Author's Note:**

> [If you'd like to share this fic on Tumblr, click here.](http://lovebeyondmeasure.tumblr.com/post/170172840704/)


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